Best Served Cold
by Grace157
Summary: Dean throws a snowball. Castiel is not impressed. Festive!Fluff.
1. Dean

_Author's Note: With Christmas coming up I really wanted to write something winter-themed, but in typical style what started out as a one-shot is now five pages on my Word document, so I'm splitting this into three shorter chapters. I'm not great with canon, but it's set at some point mid season five._

* * *

><p>Dean cursed as he skidded on yet another patch of ice and nearly fell into a snow pile in someone's front yard. The three of them had spent most of the week digging up graves in freezing temperatures to exorcise a particularly vicious ghost that had been terrorising the town. Now the Impala was frozen solid and they were fresh out of everything so Dean had bravely volunteered to make the trek up to the store- something he was now beginning to regret.<p>

Not that he'd had much choice. Sam wasn't going to get far with a twisted ankle on these steep roads, though his sarcastic conversation would have been appreciated right now; his replacement wasn't contributing much in the chatting department.

Dean swatted at the snowflakes swirling around his head and squinted at the flapping trench coat several strides ahead of him. Castiel had decided to accompany him on his mission to get supplies, but had conveniently forgotten that whilst _he_ may well have been an angel with magical anti-freeze powers, Dean was only a very cold (and rather pissed-off) mortal.

'Hey, could you slow down a little?' he called, edging around a frozen puddle that the snow had almost hidden. He was sure he could feel the end of his nose turning blue. 'Not all of us have angel superpowers, you know!'

Castiel didn't seem to hear him, staring up at the frozen trees that lined the path as he walked. They'd been walking for nearly ten minutes now, and not once had he faltered in his step. If anything he seemed to enjoy the wintery surroundings, the chilly winds unable to coax the slightest flush in his pallid cheeks. Talk about rubbing salt in the wound. It had been like this for most of the week: Castiel being serious and composed as usual, impatient to get on with the job whilst Sam and Dean shivered endlessly and tried to maintain possession of their extremities.

And Dean realised he was sick of it. Castiel never seemed to understand that his friends were human beings who needed to eat and sleep and keep warm like everyone else. He'd spent most of the week standing impatiently by the motel window, bitching about how important it was that they caught this ghost before it killed any more people. Dean was sick of Castiel's _I-forget-how-weak-humans-are_ attitude, sick of this tiny little town in the middle of nowhere, and most of all he was sick to death of being _cold._

In short, Dean needed to let off some steam after a long week. And his preferred victim was currently taking a nap at the motel with a cushion under his foot.

Dean's gaze drifted to the piles of snow by the roadside, and a light bulb went on in his head.

Cold dampness bit into his numbed fingers as he scooped a handful of snow off a nearby wall (he wasn't a girl like Sam- no way was he wearing gloves even in this weather). He brought his hands together and compressed it into a cold ball. As he straightened up, he felt a childish grin spread across his face at the thought of what he was about to do.

Castiel didn't turn around. He hadn't even noticed that Dean had stopped walking. With an aim perfected by years of hurling various pointed objects at bad guys, Dean drew back his arm, focussed in on his target, then threw the snowball as hard as he could.

He'd expected it to vaporise in a puff of smoke, or for the angel to dodge the blow with his superhuman reflexes. It was the moral victory that counted, in Dean's opinion.

Instead, the snowball shot through the air unhindered and smacked Castiel in the back of the head.

'Agh!' Castiel flinched as crumbs of snow went down the back of his neck. He whipped around, eyes wide as he scanned the street for danger, then his gaze settled on Dean's grinning face.

'Hey, thanks for stopping.' Dean walked up to him, doing his best not to swagger. He'd just taken an _angel_ by surprise. 'Thought I'd never catch you up.'

Castiel gingerly touched the back of his neck then examined his hand as though checking for blood. His blue eyes were the colour of a frozen lake as he stared up at him in confusion. 'What was that for?' he growled in his gravelly voice.

'Uh, fun?' Dean spread out his arms, still savouring the achievement. 'It's a human thing, y'know, when we get bored of freezing our asses off-'

'Have I done something to offend you?' he demanded, his eyebrows pulling downwards into a scowl.

'What? No- I-' Dean was a little taken aback at the venom in his tone. 'Hey, it's only a snowball Cas, no need to get your wings in a twist.' This was the same guy who had let Dean run a knife through his heart the first time they'd properly met. Why was he so touchy all of a sudden?

He sighed. 'It's just a game, okay? People throw snowballs at each other all the time. You don't have to take it so personally.'

'I fail to see the fun in disturbing someone whilst they are trying to think,' he snapped, then turned on his heel and continued walking, each footstep crunching in the snow. The sight stirred something in Dean's memory. It took him a moment, but then he had it: Castiel was the spitting image of four-year-old Sammy stomping off in a huff after losing an argument. He even had the pout.

'Oh, you're just being pissy because I caught you off guard,' Dean teased, working hard to keep pace with him. By this time he'd all but forgotten about the cold; there was a vindictive pleasure to be had in winding Cas up. It allowed him to forget about Michael and Lucifer and the upcoming Apocalypse, if only for a while. Somehow it felt like payback for all the times Castiel had shown up and given him half an answer, always too mysterious to stick around and explain himself. Not that he had a grudge against the guy or anything.

'Come on, you throw one! Hit me!' He held out his arms, an open target. 'You might be a warrior of God but I'm gonna make you throw a snowball. Come on, Cas!'

Castiel just shook his head in disdain and continued walking.

'I challenge you to a duel!' he said dramatically, and grabbed another handful of snow.

'Then I decline,' he replied. When Dean threw this snowball Castiel didn't even flinch, and it smashed into an invisible wall a few feet short of his shoulder, exploding into a fine powder that was dissipated by the wind.

'Grinch.' Dean blew on his hands and stuffed them in his pockets. 'You're no fun, you know that?' He fell into step beside him. Castiel made a point of looking anywhere but him, his lips pressed together into a thin line. 'You're allowed to have some fun in a while. Can't you lighten up?'

Castiel whirled around to face him, eyes flashing with anger. 'Has it occurred to you that I might have bigger things on my mind right now than your stupid human traditions?' he snarled. His expression was so intense that Dean actually took a step back. The angel was the most even-tempered one he'd met, but you wouldn't think to look at him at that moment. Castiel looked genuinely pissed off. They stared at each other as the snow fell down around them.

'Have you seriously never heard of snowball fighting?' Dean asked weakly.

'It's not high on my priority list right now.' Castiel closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he looked weary. Tired, even. 'Dean, I have things to do. Perhaps it is best if you continue this venture alone.'

'For God's sake Cas, it was just a snowball!' Dean cried out. 'Stop being such a drama queen-' He looked over as he heard the rustle of wings. 'Cas?' He crunched to a halt and turned around. Behind him, two sets of footprints extended into the distance. A few paces away, the slightly smaller prints halted as though the person that had caused them had abruptly ceased to be.

'Great.' Dean sighed, a cloud of breath in the freezing air. Castiel was gone.


	2. Sam

Dean took his time in the store, telling himself it was so he could warm up a little before heading out again. He went meticulously over Sam's scribbled list, checking everything three times just to be completely sure. But by the time he'd paid for the supplies and stepped back into the cold, Castiel still hadn't returned.

The trudge back seemed twice as long without the stern-faced angel keeping him company. Worse, the snowfall had become a blizzard, and white flakes gathered on his eyelashes until he could barely see. Now he bitterly regretted not taking a pair of gloves; his hands felt like they were frozen against the plastic bag handles.

When he finally trudged back to the motel, Dean wondered if he'd ever be warm again. He passed the Impala in the parking lot, wheels still frozen up and with a fresh layer of snow obscuring the windscreen. Dean fervently wished the weather would let up so they could get out of this place before they froze to death. How the locals could bear winters as harsh as these he'd never understand. He stomped back up to the room, his numb fingers clumsy with the key before he finally opened the door.

Sam hadn't moved since Dean had left, still dozing on top of the bedcovers with an open book lying forgotten across his chest. He stirred at the sound of the door closing. 'How'd it go?' he yawned without opening his eyes. 'You were gone for ages.'

'In case you hadn't noticed, the snow is knee-deep out there, Sammy.' Dean dumped the bags on the floor and kicked off his snow-caked boots. 'And it's also friggin' cold.' By way of demonstration, he planted a frozen hand on his brother's face and smirked as Sam yelped and swatted it away. 'How's your foot?'

'Better than it was,' he admitted, sitting up. 'I'm not gonna be tap-dancing anytime soon, though.' He glanced pointedly towards the door. 'Where's Cas?'

'He, uh, vanished again. Guy doesn't like to stick around, you know how he is.' Dean shrugged, wandering into the bathroom. 'I should think he's got more important things to do than carry groceries.' He ran the hot tap and sighed as stabs of painful warmth assailed his frozen fingers. Why did they never get cases at sunny beaches? Surely even demons liked the odd vacation or two.

When he came back into the room Sam was watching him expectantly, arms folded. Despite the sleep-ruffled hair and pillow under his foot, he pulled off the disapproving parent face surprisingly well.

Dean stared back at him. 'What?'

'You're a terrible liar, Dean. Cas showed up here about a half hour ago and said he was going to be away for a couple days.'

He frowned. 'And?'

'And he looked like someone had kicked his puppy. What did you say to him?'

'Nothing!' he insisted, too quickly, then cursed inwardly as Sam raised his eyebrows. 'We just had a- a minor disagreement, okay? It's not my fault he's so damn touchy today.' Dean collapsed onto his bed, exhausted. After a while, Sam gave up waiting for a more satisfactory answer and returned to his book.

The silence dragged for several minutes. Finally, Dean sighed. 'Fine, I threw a snowball at him. Happy?'

Sam blinked up at him, mid page-turn. 'What?'

'Just to lighten things up, you know. I was bored.' He was baffled when Sam laughed and shook his head. 'What's funny?'

'You threw a snowball? At an angel?' Sam slotted an old receipt between the pages and set the book down. 'Only you would be dumb enough to try something like that.'

'What's he gonna do, smite me?' Dean scoffed.

The humour abruptly faded from his eyes. 'I doubt he could if he wanted to. But he's done a lot for us, Dean. And he's got problems of his own to deal with right now.'

'Yeah, he's not the only one.' He stared up at the ceiling, where a patch of pale green mould was growing in the corner above the bed. Castiel rarely spoke of his own personal quest to find his father, but whenever anyone mentioned the man upstairs he'd become quiet and evasive until the subject was changed. The angel wasn't one to show much emotion, but lately some of the fire seemed to have gone from his eyes. Joshua's news must have hit him pretty hard. Guilt stabbed at him.

Sam sighed. 'I'm just saying we need to stick together on this one. We're all kinda stressed out right now and we can't afford to fall out over- over things like this.'

'Alright, you don't have to rub it in.' Dean pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through the contacts, some vague idea of an awkward apology forming in his mind. Not many people could say that they had an angel in their phonebook. He found Cas' number and pressed "call".

NO SIGNAL

'Man, I love this town.' Dean groaned in frustration and tossed it onto the nightstand. 'Why would a ghost even _come_ here, anyway? It's just the middle of nowhere!' he cried. Come to think of it, if Cas was busy trying to find his dad then there was a good chance a ringing cell phone wouldn't be good for any stealth attempts.

'Maybe they like the peace and quiet,' Sam suggested, opening up his book again.

Dean shuffled into a more comfortable position and closed his eyes. 'Don't we all.' Now that the biting winds were gone, warmth began to trickle back into his bones and he began to feel sleepy. That walk had taken more out of him than it should have. He could use a nap.

But even as he began to relax he thought about the Apocalypse, and the enormity of what they were trying to do hit him once again. Team Free Will: two hunters and a rebelling angel versus just about every nasty thing that cared to show its face. Castiel had given everything to aid them in a battle that seemed impossible to win. You couldn't blame the guy for being a little prickly. Dean remembered his desperation to find his own dad and the emotional rollercoaster that had followed , and wondered if they were more alike than they realised.

Dean kept his eyes shut and tried to turn his mind to less depressing things like hot chicks in bars and driving down (warm) country roads, but guilt kept pulling him back to their argument.

As Sam turned the page of his book, Dean slowed his breathing and focused on thinking as loudly as he could.

_Castiel._

No reply.

_Cas?_

_Hey Chuckles, I wanna talk to you._

_Please?_

_Look, I know you can hear me._

_Castie-elll..._

_I'm gonna keep on annoying you until you answer me._

_Cas_

_Cas_

_Castiel_

_Casserole_

_Casbutt_

_Cassy-poo_

_Come on grumpy-wings, stop sulking in the clouds. I'm serious._

'Woah, you weren't kidding. Looks pretty rough out there now.'

Dean opened one eye, his concentration broken. Sam was leaning over and peering out of the window. Behind the curtains, snow was piling up against the glass.

'Yeah.' Dean sighed and looked up at the ceiling. If you turned your head a little, the cracks in the faded paint looked a bit like wings. _Listen Cas, I'm sorry okay? I've got a lot on my plate right now. I forget that you do too._

His eyelids drooped as soft snow blanketed the edges of his mind. _You never tell us when something's on your mind. Problem shared is a problem halved, y'know. We're not exactly miracle workers but we're your friends. You might be an angel but that sure as hell doesn't make you indestructible._

Snow began pattering against the building, like tiny fingers tapping out a hundred different rhythms. Dean closed his eyes.

_You've helped me out a lot these past few months. Just stay safe, Cas. I know you'll find your dad eventually._

Snowflakes settled on his closed eyes, but they were warm like summer rain. When sleep rose to greet him like a long-lost friend, he welcomed it gratefully.

And he could have imagined it, but just before he faded from consciousness Dean was sure he heard a distant _Thank you_ from the snow clouds overhead.


	3. Castiel

_Author's Note: This story turned out to be slightly angstier than I'd planned, so here's the fluffy conclusion. I've only been watching this show for a couple of months and I'm planning on writing more fluffy Castiel fics next year, so you might want to check my profile now and then for similar stories (the first two chapters of my mini-series _Winging It_ are already up if you fancy a new read). Happy Christmas, and thanks to everyone reading!_

* * *

><p>It continued to snow for the rest of the day, much to Dean's frustration. He could only watch through the window as any lingering footprints were swept away and more icicles formed on the streetlights lining the roads. Even Sam grew restless once he'd finished his book and there was no Wi-Fi to occupy him.<p>

By nightfall the worst of the weather had passed, and when the morning arrived Dean saw that the grey clouds had lifted. If they were going to drive out of here, this was probably their best chance.

In the parking lot the snow nearly reached the top of his boots. He waded over to the Impala and took a shovel out of the trunk (always useful for late night grave-digging). He dug out the wheels, brushed the snow off the windscreen and scraped the ice off the mirrors. Yeah, she'd be good to go as soon as they were packed up.

They made their way out of the motel with arms full of bags and suitcases. Aside from a slight limp Sam was back to his usual self, humming cheerfully as he crunched through the fresh snow. The morning air was like sandpaper on his face, and as Dean puffed out a cloud of breath he thought longingly of finding a nice, warm diner on the drive back. He'd eaten about as much canned food as he could stand this week.

He was halfway to the car when something punched him hard in the middle of the chest. For a moment he thought he'd been shot and he dropped the bags on the ground, but then bits of cold snow sprayed in his face.

'What the-' Dean looked around at Sam, who was following a little way behind. He had a suitcase in either hand and was looking back at the motel as he walked, completely unaware of what had just happened.

Shading his eyes against the glare of the winter sun, Dean surveyed the parking lot. All the other cars were still frozen solid, and the only footprints were those he'd already made. There was no one else here.

'You okay?' Sam halted beside him, noticing the bags on the ground.

Dean narrowed his eyes but he couldn't see anyone hiding behind the cars. It was probably some kids with nothing better to do. In a town like this you couldn't blame them for being bored out of their skulls. He turned back to Sam, opening his mouth to voice his suspicions.

The second snowball hit him in the face, instantly numbing his cheeks and making his eyes sting. He stumbled blindly and nearly fell over his own suitcase, muttering curses under his breath.

Sam looked around apprehensively. With his superior height, he was probably the more desirable target. They waited in tense silence for several long seconds, but it seemed that the perpetrator had lost interest. With a shrug and a heavy sigh, Dean bent down to pick up his bags.

The next one smashed across his back. Dean yelped and shielded his face with an arm as three more pelted him, coating his shoulder and back with freezing dampness. He hadn't bothered to wear his thick coat since it was only a short walk to the Impala. He shuddered in his thin jacket and glanced around the empty lot in anger. 'Okay, who's doing that?' he demanded.

Another snowball hit him in the back, this time from the other end of the parking lot. Dean wheeled around, scrutinising the surrounding buildings. Had the ghost returned to get payback?

Meanwhile Sam was laughing openly, and had left his luggage on the ground to watch.

Dean rounded on him. 'Sam, if this is you-'

'Hey, don't look at me!' He opened his arms out innocently. 'I think you must have angered the ghost of Christmas spirit.'

He snorted, then groaned in frustration as yet another snowball cuffed him upside the head and snow melted down the back of his neck. 'Well whoever you are, I'm not in the mood to be messed around with! You hear?' he shouted at the sky.

'Uh, Dean?' Sam was looking at something over his shoulder, his eyes wide.

'What?' he snapped, and turned around.

And what must have been a dozen snowballs came hailing down from above. The sheer force of them knocked him to the ground, robbing him of any remaining body warmth. It was like being pummelled with freezing-cold boxing gloves. There was snow in his ears, down his shirt, in his boots...

'Okay, I give up!' he wailed, curling into a ball on the ground. 'I give up, you son-of-a-bitch, I give up!'

Sam was still laughing as he called out, 'Alright dude, leave him alone. He's gonna become a popsicle in a minute.'

The assault stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and Dean was left hunched amongst the suitcases in snow that was now level with his shoulders. He raised his head slowly.

Castiel stood in front of him, as calm and unruffled as ever without so much as a snowflake in his hair.

'What the hell was that?' Dean choked. Snow clung to his hair and clothes as he staggered to his feet.

Castiel tilted his head to one side and squinted slightly in the way he always did when puzzled. 'I believe this is what you call a snowball fight, Dean.'

'What?' He clapped his hands to his arms to try and get some feeling back into them. He felt as though he'd crawled out of a frozen lake and then been beaten up by a snowman. 'Cas, that's not how snowball fights work-' Then he broke off when he saw the corner of the angel's mouth turn upwards. Castiel was _smirking._

'That was awesome.' Sam sighed happily, still grinning. 'I didn't think your voice went that high.'

'Shut up, Sam.' Dean shook the snow off the bags and hoisted them up again, his cheeks warming slightly. 'Y'know, for an angel you're pretty damn sadistic,' he said, trying and failing to keep the shivering out of his voice. 'I wouldn't have thought you were the kind of guy to bear a grudge.'

'I'm not,' he said seriously, 'but by your standards this means we're even.'

Dean failed to see how a tidal wave of snowballs equalled one thrown in jest, but he chose to leave it be. Judging by the majority of angels he'd seen, he was lucky not to have been zapped to the North Pole.

'Anyway, sometimes angels get bored of freezing our asses off,' he added matter-of-factly, following him to the car.

Despite himself, Dean felt a smile playing across his face. 'I think I taught you too well.' He dumped the bags in the trunk.

When he turned back, Castiel was watching him with a thoughtful look on his face. Dean automatically winced as the angel touched two fingers to his shoulder, then raised his eyebrows when he realised that his clothes were suddenly dry, warm as though they'd just come off the radiator. Castiel nodded once and stepped back, and he recognised it for the apology it was. 'Thanks, Cas,' he said as he shut the lid down. 'Remind me to never piss you off unless we're somewhere sunny.'

'Did you need anything by the way?' Sam asked as he opened the passenger door and got in. 'I mean, no offence but when you show up it's usually to warn us about something.'

Castiel glanced between the two of them, suddenly hesitant. 'No, actually. I... I just wanted to check on you. In case you required my help for anything.' He blinked. 'Since I am not needed I should probably be going.' But he didn't move from where he was standing.

For all of his superhuman powers, the guy had a lot to learn about lying. Perhaps angels weren't supposed to have human emotions, but Dean sometimes wondered if Castiel ever got lonely now he was cut off from Heaven. Maybe he was more human than he wanted to admit. He climbed into the driver's seat and switched on the ignition. 'Well, we're off to find a diner and warm up. You wanna come with?'

'I don't need to eat, Dean.' Castiel tilted his head slightly, considering them. 'But I will accompany you, if you're sure.'

Dean waited for him to open the door, then glanced in the driver's mirror and saw that he was already sitting in the back. 'Team Free Will is back on the road!' he announced, relishing the growl of the engine as the car fought its way through the snow and emerged onto the road.

Sam stiffened slightly and turned to peer out of the window. His tense expression was reflected in the glass, and Dean realised that his words were too much of a reminder for what they had yet to face. Not a subject for empty stomachs.

'And our first mission,' he continued, his tone deadly sombre, 'is to find pie.'

Slowly, a tiny smile grew on Sam's face. 'A noble quest,' he agreed soberly.

'Is this likely to be a difficult venture?' Castiel piped up from the back, the sarcasm utterly lost on him.

Sam snorted. 'With Dean at the wheel? He could sniff one out a mile away.'

'Hey, I know what my priorities are.' Dean switched on the CD player and dug out one of his old AC/DC albums. The rock music filled the car as they rumbled down the highway, and he realised he was home.

'I don't understand.' In the back, Castiel was still frowning. 'Why is pie so important?'

Dean drummed his fingers on the wheel and let out a long sigh. 'Not even you should be asking that question. You have got some things to learn about the human world, Cas.'

'Then show me,' he requested.

Sam groaned as Dean punched the air triumphantly. There weren't many subjects he could be considered an expert in, but pie 101 was definitely one of them. 'That's the best thing I've heard all week. Pie it is.'

Snow began falling as the Impala sped up and left the tiny town far behind. Pie was a worthy goal indeed.


End file.
